


letters

by zappactionsdower



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, let's just go for vaguely cinderella-esque, regency-victorian au?, that vague-ish anachronistic thing, those summer uniforms are just begging for more era aus okay okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26991226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zappactionsdower/pseuds/zappactionsdower
Summary: My dearest Felix,Rodrigue tells me you are doing well but I still wonder if you are happy.  It’s been ten years since I have seen you, and I often wonder what you look like.  If you still enjoy opera, if you enjoy riding as you once did.We are approaching courting season again and Stepmother has given me an ultimatum.  Either I find an acceptable bride or she will find one for me.  I fear I have run out of excuses but I cannot say I would ever love anyone as I still love you.I know love is not required in marriage but it feels terribly dishonest.  All I can hope for is to find someone I can be friends with.  Perhaps that is all I can ask the Goddess for.Ever yours,Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, low key ingrid/sylvain
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	1. summer

_Dearest Felix,_

_It has been quite an exciting few months in Fhirdiad! Father is thrilled about the new building plans and he cannot stop speaking of how different it will be in just a few decades. Can you imagine no more carriages inside the city? It is difficult work, but utterly fascinating all the same. Still, I cannot say I am able to enjoy it as I have been very busy with my studies. You must tell me all you can about your time at the academy. Learning in a classroom instead of a private tutor must be a very different experience!_

_I know it has been only a few months since I last saw you but it feels longer. It is impetuous, I know, but I have already started packing for our trip south to your estate. I am bringing my favorite books and my new sword, per your instructions. Give my regards to Glenn as well, although I am certain he will be very busy courting this summer and will no longer wish to entertain us._

_Yours,_

_Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd_

__

Dimitri looks forward to summer. Summer means Dimitri and his father leave the bustling city of Fhirdiad for the relative peace of Fraldarius. When he was tiny, Dimitri remembers the long carriage ride while his father and stepmother discussed business as he napped.

This time, they arrive in a motorcar. The driver assures them it is completely safe and getting more comfortable all the time, but Dimitri still prefers to watch the graceful movements of their horses over the loud sputtering of the vehicle. It is a clear day and the sun is not quite warm enough to bother them as the landscape changes from bricked buildings to more and more trees and fresh air.

Rodrigue, as always, waits by the hedge-garden entrance with his two sons. Glenn has grown again, tall and proud. But Dimitri’s gaze always fixes on Felix and something tight in his chest begins to unwind.

Felix has not changed much. His hair is tucked back in a small knot and puberty is beginning to erase the baby fat in his cheeks. He will be stunning in a few years. What surprises Dimitri is the scowl on his face – surely he’s just as pleased to see Dimitri as Dimitri is to him?

“Roddy!” Lambert almost jumps out of the motorcar and strides over to embrace Rodrigue Fraldarius in a bear hug. “Good to see you!” He draws back to gesture to the motorcar and waves their driver over to introduce himself.

Dimitri follows behind, ducking just as Glenn attempts to tousle his hair. He smiles brightly at Felix who crosses his arms.

“Hello, Felix.”

Felix stares, his lips thin. The year has been good to him – he’s enrolled in some kind of private school which sounds exciting to Dimitri. In Fhirdiad Dimitri’s days are full of private tutors and Gilbert’s strict regimen. He rarely gets to be with children his own age outside of social events where he is expected to make the best impression.

“You got taller.” Felix finally says, looking Dimitri up and down as though studying him. He’s not wrong – Dimitri had a particularly painful growth spurt this year and the tailor could hardly keep up. Even now, his shirts do not fit quite right in the shoulders, much to his stepmother’s chagrin.

“I’ve heard your fencing has gotten better.” Dimitri counters, excited. Judging by the way that Felix’s chest puffs slightly, it is exactly the right response to give.

“It’s a little boring right now. You’d better give me a good bout.” Felix challenges, and just like that, it is all familiar and perfect. Felix grabs onto Dimitri’s wrist and drags him along towards the large estate. For the next three months, they will be inseparable and have the entire countryside to themselves.

Their first stop is the stableyard, as always, because Dimitri does not get to visit with horses in Fhirdiad and Felix prefers to be outdoors than in the sprawling Fraldarius mansion. Four years ago, Glenn's mare had given birth to a pure black colt that Dimitri grew quite fond of.

“He looks beautiful.” Dimitri coos, running his hand all along the young horse's neck. He is still solid black and, judging from Felix's letters, quite temperamental. He hopes this will be the summer he can begin riding him but Lambert is very particular about mounts after Dimitri’s mother had an accident when he was just a baby.

“He's all right.” Felix sniffs, unimpressed.

“Felix, there's no need to be modest. Do you think I can ride him this year when we start the foxhunt?”

Felix scowls and again, Dimitri wonders if there is some secret he is not privy to. “It's just a _beast_ , Dimitri.”

“I like him.” Dimitri does not miss the way Felix's eyebrows pinch together. “How is life at the academy? You didn't speak much about it in your letters but it must be exciting.”

“I broke a boy's nose.”

“Felix!” Dimitri scolds, scandalized.

“He deserved it.” Felix shrugs. “He said - “

Dimitri waits.

“It doesn't matter.” Felix tosses Dimitri a brush. “Here. He needs a brushing.”

Dimitri smiles and returns his attention to the black horse. It gives a tiny grunt and bobs its head and Dimitri makes a few more coos. Beside him, Felix's gaze is sharp but entirely... strange.

That night, like always, there is a huge banquet. Rodrigue and Lambert spend the entire time sharing stories and downing imported wine while Glenn tells Dimitri all about Felix's embarrassing stories and Felix threatens to stab him with his fork. Dimitri laughs without embarrassment if he accidentally snorts, exactly the way his stepmother discourages.

After they are fed, Felix drags Dimitri to his room to show off his new phonograph he received for his thirteenth birthday. Dimitri has seen them throughout the city but does not own one, and he's utterly fascinated as Felix explains the opera records with genuine passion. The moon is high in the sky when Dimitri finally feels the day start to catch up to him and, despite his breeding, he does not catch himself before he lets out a rather inelegant yawn.

Felix raises an eyebrow from his spot on one of the chaise lounges. “Is the music boring?”

“Not at all.” Dimitri smiles, controlling himself well enough to not rub at his eye. His stepmother has spent much of their time together reminding him that he is no longer a child and must practice _proper_ behavior. “I'm just tired. It has been a long trip and we spent most of yesterday packing.” Both he and his father preferred to carry their luggage themselves, and the staff was permanently vexed as they watched the two of them carry three to four heavy trunks at a time.

The Blaiddyd strength is said to be legendary. Dimitri does not know if his ancestor truly took out an entire castle wall merely by leaning against it, but he does know it is slightly peculiar to lift the side of a motorcar with merely your hands.

It makes tea very difficult, when you cannot hold a cup without accidentally cracking the china.

Dmitri stands, leaning down to smooth his trousers. “Thank you for showing me all your records.”

Felix's expression is, again, quite strange.

“Is something wrong, Felix?” Dimitri tilts his head. “I did not offend you, did I?”

“No.” Felix crosses his arms and stares stubbornly out the window. “You're going to your bedroom, aren't you?”

“I do not think we would still fit in your bed.” Dimitri remembers fondly when they were young and would clamor together beneath the blankets.

But they are no longer children, are they?

“Good night.” Felix says crisply and begins to pack away his records.

Fraldarius, like most of Faerghus, is temperate during the summer but a far cry from the humid, stifling heat of Southern Adrestia. Today is perfect riding weather, just the right temperature and just the right amount of sunny.

Felix is positively dour when they saddle up their horses. This time, Dimitri has been given a mouse-grey mare that Glenn is particularly proud of. She is a beautiful creature, although perhaps a little too mild for foxhunting.

Felix's stallion is slightly larger and dark chestnut.

“Is something wrong, brat?” Glenn asks teasingly as he slides onto his own horse. “You rather we left you behind with your _guest?”_

“I'd rather you stop talking.” Felix snipes as he climbs up onto his stallion.

“Growing pains.” Rodrigue shrugs, shaking his head as Lambert raises an eyebrow. “He's getting to that age.”

“Ah, I see.” Lambert nods knowingly. “Mitya will not even let me tell the story of - .”

“Father!”

The hounds are ready.

Glenn sounds the horn.

And then they are off.

Dimitri loves riding, perhaps more than anything. There is something unreal about the rush of air, the steady, powerful rhythm of hooves against the grass. It is nothing like the structured existence at home.

Felix is keeping pace beside him and Dimitri spares only a momentary glance at his friend. His focus on a horse is a thing to behold, but that strange expression is back.

And then Felix peels away, directing his horse away from the braying hounds and on a different path. Dimitri, impulsively, follows along.

Felix finally stops at the edge of a lake. He dismounts and yanks his headgear off, shaking his black hair free from its binding. Dimitri hesitates before doing the same.

He does not remember this. There is a small brook littered with black rocks and the ground is covered in blue and gold flowers and high grass. The air smells of honeysuckle bushes and Dimitri spots many of them littered with the high trees. It feels... somehow sacred.

“I hate that damned sport.” Felix announces as he pulls off the outer layer of his jacket. “What did that fox do anyway?”

“Eat chickens?” Dimitri leads his mare to the water’s edge. She is docile enough that she will not bolt, but he is too well-trained to let go of the reins.

“That's what foxes _do_.” Felix flops down on the edge of the stone and releases his own horse. “He won't go far. He likes to eat the honeysuckle here.”

Dimitri ties his mare to a branch, rubbing against her neck. It is warm enough that he, too, pulls off his jacket and hesitantly unbuttons his inner vest. There is very little sound save the quiet lap of the lake's water and the chattering of birds.

“Do you come here often?” Dimitri settles down besides Felix, watching the slight sway of flowers with the mid-day breeze.

“It's the only place Glenn doesn't know about.”

Dimitri doubts that. Glenn knows everything. He is prime marriage material, and it is a wonder he has not selected a fiancée and swept them off to a life adventuring outside the bounds of Fodlan yet.

“It's nice.”

“Nice.” Felix repeats, snorting.

Dimitri looks at him, still trying to sort out the strangeness. “Felix, do you – you seem unsettled.”

“I'm fine, Mitya.” His friend looks away at the lake, then back at him. “You're - “

“I'm?” Dimitri tilts his head, waiting.

“You have - “ Felix stops, his hand raised awkwardly.

Dimitri blinks.

Felix is very close to him. Close enough that Dimitri can count his eyelashes.

And then he is closer, and their lips are pressed together.

The entire forest fades out. Everything fades but that unfamiliar warmth and the sudden heat in Dimitri's chest.

And... lower?

Just as quickly as it happens, Felix withdraws with a curse. He looks away, pulling into himself.

“Sorry.” Felix mutters. “I - “

“No.” Dimitri touches his lips, curious. They still tingle pleasantly. “That is to say - “

He has never heard of two boys kissing. A fraternal love, perhaps, similar to the love that Loog and Kyphon shared as they founded the old kingdom centuries past. But that is not the same as _romance_ , surely.

And yet -

Felix just kissed him. As lovers do.

“Forget it ever happened.” Felix curls into himself, glaring.

“I am not sure I want to?” Does he? He knows his lot in life is to be courted, to eventually find a woman to share his life with and continue the family line. That is the way it is, and has always been.

But...

“Could you do it again?”

They are not men yet.

Felix stares and for a brief moment he is again the young child Dimitri remembers. Open, vulnerable, and shy about his feelings.

Felix presses him against the soft grass and Dimitri goes willingly, trusting his friend not to lead him astray.

Dimitri learns many things that summer. He learns that Felix likes it when Dimitri touches his spine and Felix likes to lick Dimitri’s lips and bury his face in Dimitri’s neck. Dimitri learns that he very much likes to suck on Felix’s collarbone, and that Felix likes to cuddle together after a bout of fencing.

Dimitri learns that Glenn _knows_ , as Glenn always knows, and he only warns them both to be as careful as Daphnel mice in a house of cats

By the end of the summer, Dimitri feels irrevocably changed.

_My beloved Felix,_

_Father has passed. The details are scarce but there was an explosion at the trainyard. By the sound of it he chose to save several workers who were trapped by a raging fire. I keep telling myself that it means his death had meaning but I am not sure I truly believe it. Is one life worth more than six? Than two? I suppose there are no easy answers. The Goddess says that life should be lived with virtue and service towards others and I remind myself of that even though a part of me wonders why She would allow such tragedies to happen at all. Stepmother and Uncle are handling the affairs, and I find myself unable to do much more than stay in my room and wait._

_I know Rodrigue will likely be visiting soon for the ceremony. He and Father were such close friends that I cannot imagine he is taking this well either. Please give him the support I cannot._

_Ever yours,_

_Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd_

__

The funeral is a small affair with a local priestess delivering a blessing at the family grave site. Dimitri curls tight in his black jacket, saying nothing and speaking nothing. Even if he had the words to describe his feelings he suspects that they would be swallowed up by the heavy snowfall.

Felix is there when they return to the estate hours later. His hair is tied tightly in a knot and there is a solemnity that Dimitri finds oddly soothing. Felix was always the first one to cry when they were children but perhaps Dimitri is allowed to be weak this time.

“What’s going to happen to you now?” Felix asks, crowding into Dimitri’s space. For the first time in several days, Dimitri feels warm again.

“I don’t know. Stepmother has not chosen whether we will remain here or not. And I am not old enough to be legally empowered yet.” He cannot stop himself from touching Felix’s hair, his neck, leaning down to nuzzle into his warm throat. If Felix is here, he can handle things. He _must_ handle things.

“Mitya, you – “ Felix starts, slow and firm. “If you want to – “

“I love you.” It is a simple truth, Dimitri realizes. But one that somehow _matters_ , because he has already lost two loved ones and his heart is not certain he can stand to lose another. “Forgive me but I do. More than anyone.”

Felix kisses him. Dimitri is helpless to do anything other than kiss back.

Someone gasps to their right.

The maid wastes no time in telling Patricia of her stepson kissing a fellow boy. Dimitri takes full responsibility, declaring that Felix’s honor is above reproach and his friend was only showing momentary weakness to ameliorate Dimitri’s grief.

It is a lie, and one that makes his throat tighten and his chest ache. But if anyone deserves to be punished for indiscretion, it should not be Felix.

He is never allowed to see him again.


	2. spring

_My dearest Felix,_

_Rodrigue tells me you are doing well but I still wonder if you are happy. It’s been ten years since I last saw you and I often wonder what you look like. If you still enjoy opera, if you enjoy riding as you once did. You must miss Glenn terribly but I am told he has made quite a name for himself in the Navy! Do you remember Sylvain? He and Ingrid have moved here and I find their presence quite comforting. They are wed and it is utterly vexing how Sylvain still manages to be the center of every social scandal in Fhirdiad. Ingrid believes he enjoys it but I cannot fathom why._

_We are approaching Courting Season again and Stepmother has given me an ultimatum. Either I find an acceptable bride or she will find one for me. I fear I have run out of excuses, but I cannot say I would ever love anyone as I still love you._

_I know love is not required in marriage but it feels terribly dishonest. All I can hope for is to find someone I can be friends with. Perhaps that is all I can ask the Goddess for._

_Ever yours,_

_Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd_

__

Spring is Courting Season in Fodlan. In Adrestia, there are wine tastings and folk dances and communal festivals that often end in spur-of-the-moment romances beneath the stars. In Adrestia, it is said, courting should be as passionate and hot as a flame burning at night.

In Leicester, traditions are often far more transactional – parents meet parents and discuss accounts and dowries. Estates are inspected for quality and artworks and treasures are displayed like prized peacocks. In Leicester, one does not marry for love – they marry for wealth and stability. As odd as an idea as it is, Dimitri has never met an unhappy couple from Leicester. _We want partners_ , Lorenz once said, _we don’t need passion_.

Faerghus tradition is far less exciting. In Faerghus, one marries because creating a family is a natural part of one’s life. Love is desired, but, as the saying goes, _so a bear learns to catch fish, a pair learns to love one another over time_.

There are dances to attend and many women spend their teenage years perfecting the steps to the Lion Waltz and the Wyvern Whirl and even the traditional Snow Hopak. There are social visits monitored closely by concerned mothers and aunts, fearful that somehow their daughter’s honor will be besmirched by an uncaring man. There are meetings with close friends and family to sniff out any ill intentions. There are games, both indoor and outdoor, where men attempt to show their strength and women attempt to show their cunning.

Dimitri enjoys dancing. It reminds him of fencing bouts, even though that sport has started to drop in favor as Fhirdiad grows more “modern.” He even enjoys the indoor games such as Murderer in the Kitchen or Locked Inside. He is not fond of the social visits wherein he feels as though he is being picked apart by very intrusive, ambitious parents.

The Blaiddyds are old money – perhaps the oldest money - with a line that is said to connect directly with the ancient kings. There are not many Blaiddyds left but their history is clean and full of heroic tales and good luck. Even his uncle’s indiscretions are ignored and only spoken about in hushed circles because, according to the gossip, _a Blaiddyd would never_.

Dimitri does not know if the tales are true or not. He has never asked his great-grandfather if he did in fact wrestle a wyvern into submission and Dimitri is unsure if his great-great-great-great-great-great aunt did take down a Sreng battalion on her own when they intruded upon her estate during the White-Rock Wars. But those are irrelevant because Dimitri does not feel like some sort of heroic figure.

He is the mysterious Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, said to prefer reading through old legal books and monetary accounts in a dusty library than finding a potential wife. Sylvain informs him there are _stories_ now, that somehow some curse has made him half-beast with a pig-snout or that a disease has crippled him and any public event is carefully choreographed to hide his injuries. There are stories that he prefers to spend time with some Duscur servant that practices some kind of dark magic, or that Dimitri spends all his time mourning a lost love that was swallowed by the earth.

The last two are slightly true; although Dedue’s reasons for being at the estate are less mystic and Felix has simply gone on to travel Fodlan instead of disappear beneath the ground.

All of this is irrelevant.

Dimitri checks his appearance in the mirror for the third time that afternoon. His hair is swept back and tied neatly with only a few loose strands framing his face. He’s dressed in fine blues and dark blacks, his boots are freshly polished, and he has bathed using the finest soaps.

“And here I thought you didn’t remember how to be attractive.” Sylvain drawls behind him. “We’ll make an eligible bachelor of you yet.”

“Sylvain.” Dimitri chides, tugging his jacket over the ensemble. “I hardly think all of this is necessary.”

“Consider it a favor to me then.” Sylvain fusses with Dimitri’s jacket for a short moment and then gives an approving nod. “Almost as good-looking as myself, I would say.”

Sylvain does not need to attend any of these gatherings. He is a married man, having caused an uproar just two years ago by wedding below his social stratum. Not only that, but Ingrid has no desire to retire from her horse husbandry business. Dimitri does not blame her - while the Galatea family does not have a vast fortune, they still produce some of the best racing stallions in the whole of Faerghus. Dimitri often wonders if they have a marriage of convenience, but he cannot question their happiness.

They are lucky.

“You look like you’re attending a funeral, not about to bewitch the lovely ladies of Fhirdiad.” Sylvain shakes his head and casually runs a hand through his already-tousled hair. “I don’t want you married off to some viper that only wants you for your money.”

“Perhaps that would be for the best.” Money, he has in droves, and no interest in lavish spending to offset it. His stepmother is still in charge until he is a married man, but the stipend Patricia provides is more than Dimitri could ever want. “I cannot say I am looking forward to any of this.”

“Each new spring –“ Sylvain starts.

“Is a chance to see what is beneath the snow.” Dimitri finishes the old saying.

“Therefore, Your Highness, we will go and perhaps find you a lovely bride.” Sylvain pats his shoulder. “Remember the lines I taught you?”

“I will make sure not to use them.” Dimitri takes in a deep breath.

He is ready. As ready as he can be.

__

The first event of Courting Season Dimitri missed due to a feigned illness. The second grand event is a gala at the old castle grounds near the government quarter. At some point, it was said, the old king of Fhirdiad returned triumphant to free his people from a wretched snake in the shape of a witch. Now, the square has been renovated and rebuilt and much of the old, ancient history locked away in a museum collection.

Something about the stones and the wild, wiry gardens still feels as though he is stepping back in time. It is still early afternoon and there is plenty of sun but the gala is truly lovely in darkness, where the light comes from torches and twinkling lights set around the perimeter.

There is a band already playing old Faerghus folk songs and there are several tables laid out with fresh meats and steamed vegetables. The older Faerghus gentry huddle together near the sitting area, apparently satisfied tonight with just watching instead of trying to pick out potential suitors for their children.

Several people look his way as Dimitri and Sylvain enter. Thee is Kleiman’s eldest daughter Agnes, there are Rowe’s two daughters and one son. Dimitri sees Ingrid talking to a young woman dark brown hair which he does not recognize, and there is Annette with a woman with cinnamon-brown hair cut in a bob. Unusual for courting, but certainly popular with those who have dedicated their life to the Seiros faith. So, so very many beyond those few that Dimitri has not met before but knows Patricia might select for him if he is not successful on his own.

He follows Sylvain to Ingrid, attempting to look more relaxed than he feels. 

Ingrid smiles. “Glad you could make it. We were worried you’d locked yourself in your study again.”

If only. “Apologies. I imagine my appearance is already causing quite the stir.” He gratefully takes a glass of wine as it is offered to him and presses it to his lips. The smell alone is enough to shake some of his anxiety loose. “I apologize. I have not introduced myself to your acquaintances.”

“Dorothea,” the woman with dark brown hair extends a velvet-gloved hand. She is wearing Adrestian fashion, bright red silks and golden embroidery with a black furred boa wrapped languidly around her throat. “Very charming to meet you.”

“Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.” Dimitri takes her hand in his and half-bows, as is tradition. “It is likewise a pleasure.”

She smiles, amused. “My, you really are a tall one.” Dorothea tilts her head as someone else marches up and this time, Dimitri fumbles.

He does not recognize this one either. Her hair is black and silky, tied together by carefully-placed braids. Her face is partially hidden by a lacy veil, but her red-tinted lips are tilted downwards in a tiny frown. Her dress is also Adrestian style, but she chose tranquil blues and dark black.

Somehow, he feels pinned down like a mouse beneath a cat’s paw.

“And you are?” Dimitri ventures, falling back on practiced politeness. Her hand is covered in black velvet when she extends it upwards.

“This is Grace de Sabre. She’s from a small but prestigious family in Enbarr. We met in my little opera troupe.” Dorothea says with an amused smile. “She’s our current prima donna and our expert weapon choreographer.”

“Ah – you like weapons?” He can believe it – she is rather tall and despite the layers, she carries herself like a fighter. There is _muscle_ there, buried beneath the layers and rustling silks.

“They’re useful.” Her voice is low and husky and strangely, something inside Dimitri feels warm. “So,” she continues, withdrawing her hand. “You don’t have a boar’s face after all.”

Dimitri self-consciously reaches up to touch the tip of his nose. “No. It seems not.”

Grace sniffs, but her attention stays fixed on Dimitri’s chest. “You’re here to court?”

“I – yes.” Why does it feel like an accusation?

“Pity. With those hands, you’ll probably break someone.” 

“ _Grace_!” Dorothea sighs. “Well, as you can see, she’s… new at this.”

“And terribly _rude_ , given why she came here.” Ingrid mutters from her own wine glass. 

Grace tilts her head imperiously. Somehow, Dimitri finds it charming. “It’s all right.” He bows his head, letting out a hesitant breath. “I admit I am... ill-suited to handle fine things. But if you enjoy weapons, I would greatly enjoy a bout if it would please you.”

“Maybe.” Grace pauses as Sylvain causes a young woman to shriek and laugh too loudly. “If you give me a challenge. Have you sparred before?”

“I used to all the time. I had a very strict tutor.” He bows his head again, “Please excuse me.”

He still feels her eyes on him as he begins to make the rounds again. 

__

“You spent a lot of time talking to that Kleiman girl.” Sylvain looks utterly relaxed, his coat unruffled, his cheeks flush from alcohol, and his cravat entirely gone. He slumps down on Dimitri’s most comfortable chaise, sprawling his long legs out in an entirely inelegant way.

“Did I?” Dimitri is as tired as if he’d done an entire fencing session with Gilbert and then followed it with helping Dedue move an entire library’s worth of books. He settles on one of the other chairs and begins unfastening his boots. 

“Her old man might even invite you to visit his house.” Sylvain’s voice took on a slight edge. “Wonder why you’d pick her out?”

“I did not believe Annette wished to speak to me.” The other woman with her is named Mercedes and is indeed a member of the Church of Seiros, and had traveled to Fhirdiad to begin making arrangements for a visit from the Archbishop herself. The two were childhood friends, and once Annette finished her education, she had every intention of following Mercedes southwards to become a tutor.

Dimitri envies them.

“And there’s no other less upstanding reason? Something that has to do with your tall and quiet friend?” Sylvain languidly kicks his boot off and then lets the other one dangle off the edge of his toe. “And that little _incident_ a few years ago?”

“How does Ingrid know Dorothea?” Dimitri slumps back, resting his head against his palm.

“Ah, you aren’t completely hopeless!” Sylvain bolts up, grinning. “Dorothea is quite charming, isn’t she? Alas, her beautiful façade hides a lot of claws. Ingrid and I went to one of her productions last year. You’d know that if you’d actually venture out into the social life more often.”

“I did not think Ingrid liked opera.”

“She likes the costumes. There isn’t much need to wear dresses when you’re dealing with horses all day.” Sylvain winks. “You can’t imagine how much of a crisis we caused when she arrived in trousers.”

Only Sylvain can make something so trivial sound so utterly wicked “You’re dragging her into your little attempts to be disruptive?”

“Oh no.” Sylvain winks. “She’s making me an honest man, you know.”

“And – “ Dimitri hesitates. “Did you see Grace perform?”

“Gra – oh. Yes. Grace.” Sylvain chuckles. “She’s a vicious one all right. Did she interest you? ”

Dimitri cannot deny a certain curiosity. He has not thought of anyone else – man or woman – for a decade. Even now, if he thinks of how striking a man looks or the impressive intellect of a young woman, he cannot help comparing them to what Felix would be like, grown and assured and striking.

“She is,” Dimitri looks for the right word, “challenging.”

“I’ll ask Dorothea to bring her back next time.” Sylvan yawns. “As much as I hate to leave you in your frigid estate, Ingrid does expect me to return home. Wouldn’t want there to be rumors that you’ve dragged me into your little book-prison.”

“Good night.”

Dimitri rubs at the bridge of his nose and breathes. Dedue has likely already gone to rest and his stepmother will likely stay for the week with her brother in their estate outside of Fhirdiad. 

He is fine.

Truly.

__

_My dearest Felix,_

_Courting Season is exhausting and you have made the right choice to disavow it altogether. I cannot imagine what you said to Rodrigue to convince him to exclude you, but perhaps that is the benefit of being a second son. Do not think me bitter – I am not unhappy, truly. The thought of you out there traversing Fodlan does help make it bearable. Perhaps a part of me believes that one day, you will stop by Fhirdiad and I can speak honestly in person. I do not imagine Stepmother could do much to harm you or Rodrigue now. There is a certain amount of politicking involved in these things, I know, but things have changed in ten years. My father’s name still carries a great deal of influence but Stepmother prefers the social circuit over the legal side._

_Recently, I met a woman named Dorothea who is part of the Mittlefrank Opera Group. Have you heard of them? They are said to be quite popular and have done shows throughout the three countries. I did not get to speak to her for long but I will make an attempt to learn more for your sake._

_She was attending with another woman named Grace. Grace shares our passion for swords! I offered to meet her in a bout – do you think that is considered improper? She is haughty, but I do not think her unkind. Talking to them both makes me think of you all over again._

_Ever yours,_

_Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd_

__

The next round of Courting Season is set in the historical district in the former great hall. It is entirely formal, the huge ballroom cloaked in old dark blue velvet draperies and shining white lights. It will be a full night of dancing and dining with parents hovering closely to withhold approval or grant blessings, depending on how the night goes.

Patricia attends with Dimitri this time, solemn and quiet and icy cold. Dimitri does not attempt to converse with her – ever since Lambert’s death, they have not had much words to say to one another. She is forever a woman mourning the loss of two husbands, and he is the errant son that has not yet settled and produced grandchildren.

He feels too tight in his clothes and too large compared to the other guests. Dimitri is too tall to properly perform the Wyvern Whirl even though he knows the steps by heart. He finds the Lion Waltz, in comparison, too mechanical and dull. Nothing changes inside a waltz.

But it is not about Dimitri’s desires. It is about his name. He will not find happiness here.

Sylvain winks at him from across the chamber. Beside him, Ingrid is indeed wearing trousers, dark green and modest but utterly scandalous in comparison to the wide array of blue and white patterned dresses around them. Her hair is still wrapped in traditional ribbons and dotted with flowers and she looks happy.

Agnes grabs his hand immediately. Dimitri goes along, glancing around for whoever else he can recognize.

She is a petite young woman with curly, ruddy hair. Dimitri lets himself be led to the dance floor as he politely nods whenever she speaks of her friends or her father. She talks of visits to Duscur, of the way her father keeps finding more and more untapped resources. This, Dimitri pays attention to, the steps to the waltz so ingrained that he does not realize his feet are even moving. 

“Do you want to come to the estate? Father wishes to meet with you.”

Dimitri blinks. That is – “Are you certain?”

The music changes. Before Agnes can speak, Sylvain whisks her away to switch partners.

Grace grips Dimitri’s hands and yanks him firmly back into awareness. It must be Grace – still dressed in blues and blacks, still wearing that unfamiliar veil that covers her eyes.

The music has changed to something higher tempo. The Whirl starts and Dimitri’s heart thuds firmly in his chest.

“Afraid to dance?” Grace taunts, spinning around in Dimitri’s arms. It’s a challenge, and one he is not entirely sure he knows the answer to.

They move together, Grace spinning around him in a way that is truly impressive. He matches her steps, following the movements of her body and it is oddly familiar. They are sparring now – without weapons, but with all the intent of pushing each other to their limits. She steps forward and he steps back; he darts his hand out and she is there to avoid it and pivot, teasingly twirling to briefly touch his back. Dimitri is invigorated. He could do this all night, he _wants_ to dance all night, just him and - 

Dimitri does not realize the music has halted until Grace steps on his foot. He startles and she curses in a most undignified, un-feminine manner.

“I – ah,” Dimitri grimaces and the smile briefly disappears from his face. Traditional footwear still involves thick heels and heavy material but it is not as though she broke his toes. “Ow.”

“Dammit.” She catches herself, glancing away. The turquoise ribbons laced through her hair look particularly lovely, Dimitri decides. “Sorry.”

“No. It’s – I have had worse. One time my close friend – “ Dimitri stops short. He cannot talk about Felix with other people. Felix is his most treasured secret. 

“I’m not used to following.” Grace admits and sounds particularly surly about it. “You – never mind.” She adjusts her veil and drags Dimitri along to a small, isolated hallway. “You’re not really hurt?”

“No.” Dimitri brushes a few loose strands from his face. His heart does not slow and he is sure his pulse echoes loudly around them. “I can see why you’re in charge of choreography. You’re truly impressive.”

She huffs. “You don’t need to flatter me.”

“It is not meant to be.” Dimitri hesitates. Somehow – something – he stalls. “Why are you and Dorothea in Fhirdiad?”

Grace’s lips turn downwards. “You don’t know?”

“Is it the Archbishop’s visit? Or do you wish to perform here?” Surely, Grace cannot be courting. It is true that many Adrestians visit Faerghus now in order to seek out potential marriages, but they rarely come so far north. 

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Can I offer my assistance?”

Somehow, he knows she is glaring beneath the veil. “Why are _you_ here? You look as though you are staring at your own grave whenever you interact with these _delicate_ flowers. You can’t possibly be doing this because you desire it.”

Dimitri flushes. “It is complicated.”

“Do you think so little of yourself that you enjoy being paraded out and pawned off? Isn’t there someone important to you?”

“I – “ Surely he is not that transparent. Surely he is not _that_ hopeless. “I cannot – There is no one.“

Grace’s lips are on his own. Her tongue is licking at his teeth and he is frozen, conflicting emotions causing his heart to soar and his stomach to twist into knots.

Dimitri pulls away, stunned.

He touches his lips and breathes. All he can see is a pair of dark amber eyes and the familiar touch of his beloved.

“I cannot do this.” Dimitri turns and all but runs out of the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I learned about the Hopak writing this and didn't end up using it but it's very interesting to watch.


	3. decisions

_My dearest Felix,_

_I miss you terribly. Do you remember our last summer as I do? Do you think of it at all? Sometimes I still dream of that spot, of the two of us alone after we raced our horses unattended. The smell of honeysuckle still makes me warm, even on the coldest nights._

_Kleiman has reached out to Stepmother in regards to a potential marriage. I do not know how much you follow the news but do you recall the Duscur Incident? Several years ago there was a rather violent accident involving mining workers. Many innocent Duscur men lost their lives but there were never any conclusions nor was anyone charged for negligence. I mention it due to Kleiman being the judge during court procedures._

_Felix, I feel somehow as though there are chains wrapped around my neck and each year they grow heavier. I ask myself if I am making the best choices. What obligations do I owe to my name? My remaining family? What would my father wish for me to do?_

_I was just asked by a truly confident young woman if I enjoyed being paraded around. I cannot deny the truth of her words. I always feel terribly aware of my duties as a Blaiddyd, yet I do not feel as though I know myself anymore._

_I wish you could meet her. She reminds me of you, although I cannot imagine you are that brusque. I still cannot bring myself to love anyone as I do you. Is that unfair? I do not know._

_Please know, if things were different, if I did not fear what Stepmother could do to you and your father’s honor, I -_

_Forgive me. This was not intended to be such an unpleasant letter. You are not the priest I confess my sins to! The thought of you dressed in holy garments is a little absurd, don’t you think?_

_Ever yours,_

_Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd_

Fhirdiad has changed much in a short amount of time. Dimitri remembers how much smaller the market was during his childhood. Now, shops litter each and every corner, displaying the most modern styles from every corner of Fodlan. With the onset of spring, the merchants have switched to bright colors and flowers in an attempt to gather as much coin as possible. The bright colors contrast against the black stone, filling the old capital with new energy.

He pauses, surprised, as two figures step out from the tailor’s. One is holding several high stacks of heavy-looking boxes and he cannot see past the stack.

“Miss Arnault?”

Dorothea turns, her brown curls bouncing against her shoulders. Behind her, Grace spins, darting back inside as though frightened. The boxes all clatter to the cobblestones, forgotten.

“Oh.” Dorothea reaches up to smooth her hair back as Dimtiri approaches hesitantly. “Dimitri, isn’t it? The mysteriously unmarried man without the snout of a pig?”

“.I am not sure how that particular rumor started.” Dimitri kneels down and begins to collect the stack of boxes. “Did I frighten her?” He glances to the closed door of the tailor’s shop.

“Oh - Grace. No, she’s just being dis _grace_ ful.” Dorothea frowns. “You don’t need to assist if you have somewhere to be.”

“It is no trouble. I like to look at the flower displays before I go to the government district to bury my not-pig snout in ledgers.” Dimiri adjusts his hands and rises, balancing all the packages in his arms. 

Dorothea stares.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” The corner of her mouth curls upwards. “My, you must lift some very heavy books. Here I thought that jacket you wore two weeks ago was padded but - “

They are interrupted by the bell ringing above the shop. Grace storms out, wrapped tightly in a black cloak that still covers half her face. She pushes past them both, or tries to before Dorothea’s hand jerks out to grab onto her shoulder.

Grace curses again and somehow, her voice is lower.

“You know, I have a tip on a very wealthy benefactor eating at a local bakery here. Grace, be a darling and lead Dimitri to where we’re dropping off those fabrics?”

“I’d rather not.” Grace is most definitely glowering beneath all those fabrics. It is hard to determine much beneath the frumpy black cloak but somehow, Dimitri can’t help feeling there is something off.

“I didn’t give you a choice.” Dorothea taunts. 

“If she is, that is to say, it is certainly better for two women to visit someone than one? I would not want either of your reputations harmed by rumors.” Dimitri tries. Dorothea is an outsider of Fhirdiad, and that makes her position perhaps more difficult.

“Oh no. Don’t think anything of it. Rumos lead to talk, and talk leads to drama, and drama leads to ticket sales, as we say.” Dorothea winks. “I will meet you back at our quarters Grace. Do be a dear this time.”

She all but struts away, casually greeting anyone who looks her way.

“Adrestia must be very different from Faerghus.” Dimitri murmurs, mostly to himself.

Grace scoffs. “It’s entirely her.” She pauses, glancing back to Dimitri and looking upwards. Dimitri has a momentary glance of a fine-boned nose. “You don’t have to carry that, you know.”

“I don’t mind.”

They stand there for a moment longer.

“Grace, I must apologize for my abrupt exit.” Dimiri adjusts the boxes and glances directly at her, or at least tries to. Without the veil, she seems somehow less haughty. “I was startled.”

“Goddess.” Grace turns, striding intently away from the shop. Dimitri follows, making sure to give her plenty of space. “You act as though no one hs kissed you.”

“Not in many a year, no.” Grace misses a step. “I apologize again.” Perhaps this is not the best time to speak of such, surrounded by all sorts of people. People talked. 

“Then you do have someone?” Her voice changes, somehow.

“I -” Dimitri furrows his brows together. “I cannot say.”

“Because you’re a coward.” Grace’s accusation is oddly sharp. “If I were to love someone, they should speak their mind freely.”

“Did you not say you came here to find someone?”

Grace pivots, swinging to the left. They are heading, apparently, to an old music school that has since been converted into a recital hall. “I found them.”

“Then your business is concluded?”

“No.” She stops at a thick door and knocks with far more force than any woman Dimitri has ever met. “I am waiting for them to - “

Dimitri waits.

“I stopped believing in love years ago.” Grace bows her head. “And so I swore to keep moving forward towards my own future. My own path.”

“I cannot say I understand that. But - I am sorry.’ Dimitri gives a weak, unsteady smile. “I envy your courage.”

“Then why apologize?” Grace lifts her head again, just a little, and again, there’s a twisting in Dimitri’s stomach. What color are her eyes? Why does he already feel he knows?

“Because you are still hurting.” He lets his smile drop. “I - I want to believe in love. In happiness. Even if I cannot have it, if someone I care for is happy, even without me - “

Her mouth opens. Closes. She reaches up, her pale fingers touching the edges of her hood…

The door opens with a low groan.

Grace bobs her head as an older woman in a peacock-green dress yawns and walks away. “Leave them here.”

Obediently, Dmitri sets the package neatly by the door.

Grace rushes inside.

Patricia is waiting at the estate, her expression as cold and distant as always. Beside her, Kleiman sits, holding onto a ledger and several documents. 

Dedue stands close by, stone-still and quiet, hovering close to Dimitri.

The second portion of traditional courting is the parent’s blessing. It is normally given, as children are trusted to make the best choice for them. But it is tradition, and one that has stood for many a century. Ordinarily, such events would be done in the gardens with heavy teas and fresh pastries baked carefully over the course of several days, but the two are rushing the process. The Archbishop will be in town very soon and there would be no greater prize than to be wed under the watchful eye of the representative of the Goddess herself.

“Your father was a good man. Excellent breeding.” Kleiman says, looking Dimitri up and down. “I must say, I am unsure of why you have a Duscur - “

“Dedue is my fr - “ Dimitri starts.

“Butler. I am his butler.” Dedue lies, and Dimitri’s fists clench behind his back. 

“Help can be replaced.” Patricia says, calm and indifferent. Little engages her anymore. 

“Of course.”

Dimitri’s jaw aches, but he holds his tongue. He always holds his tongue.

He is terribly, terribly tired.

“You will formally ask her hand on Friday, at the next gala.” Patricia folds her hands and sits straighter, for one looking relieved. “And then we will be done with it.”

Dimitri bows his head. “If I may… for my own peace of mind,” he glances up, looking at Kleiman through his feathered bangs, “May I please see your accounts so I can know how best to plan our fortunes?”

Kleiman balks, just for a moment. His fingers tap against the stack of papers, anxious. It is terribly rude to deny a request from your future in-law, and even worse to hide your fortunes. It is not a deal-breaker by any means, but denying such a request means one has something to hide. More than one marriage has revealed the deep debt of a seemingly well-off member of hgh society.

“I will collect them and give them to you tomorrow.”

Dimitri bows his head again. Beside him, Dedue shifts.

_My dearest Felix,_

_I will marry Agnes Kleiman upon the first moon of the new month._

_I am sorry._

_I love you. I will always only love you._

_With all of my heart,_

_Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THREE CHAPTERS  
> THIS WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE THREE CHAPTERS  
> NO THIS IS NOT HOW IT ENDS I PROMISE


	4. wedding vows

_Dimitri,_

_I am sending this letter via personal delivery. It has come to my attention that Patricia paid off our courier to hold your letters before they reached me. For this, I am truly, truly sorry. I do not know how long it has been happening nor the frequency, but it explains why only a small fraction of your correspondence ever reached us and why you believe I wrote so rarely. Rest assured there will be repercussions. I have waited too long to confront her. I was so worried that she would take you to her brother’s estate in Adrestia, far away from everything you ever knew, that I did not speak up as I should have._

_The news of your marriage has reached me and I am trying to come post-haste. I do not know your intent, but there must be more to it._

_Felix may be in Fhirdiad right now as well. He is difficult to keep track of, as he routinely travels throughout Fodlan. But he is content enough to bark at me. He has a certain look still when you are brought up, and I do not doubt he still longs for you._

_I cannot say I understand the complexities of your feelings towards one another. It is as foreign to me as Brigid poetry. But it does not matter because you are both still very dear to me. Dimitri, while this may be coming too late, Lambert had only one wish for you as you grew into a man._

_Be happy._

_He once told me you choosing to become a scoolteacher or a future governor were all the same, so long as you felt fulfilled. That has not changed, and I do not believe he would wish you to feel bound by obligations. You are your own person, not his shadow._

_Please think of yourself. Your own happiness. Live for your own values, not for what you believe polite society demands. The future belongs to you children, not to us old codgers._

_Your eternal friend,_

_Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius_

The inevitable end of Courting Season in Fhirdiad is the old Church of Seiros, an ancient and sprawling cathedral with stained glass windows so old no one can name who made them. The inside is still aged wood and thick, hewn grey-white rock pulled from the distant mountain range. People come and go each and every day, both Church practitioners and tourists merely investigating if the rumors about the old haunted belltowers are true.

Dimitri is not listening as a wedding planner drones about staging and timing and music. He does not care, truth be told, and there is a slight headache forming from behind his right eyelid.

Eventually, he pinches the bridge of his nose and interrupts as the planner begins to ask him and his stepmother about white lilies or white roses. Patricia frowns.

“Apologies. I need to rest for a few minutes.” Dimitri bows his head and pivots to head to one of the private rooms. He has not been in the cathedral often, but he remembers when Lambert would attend religious holidays and take Dimitri around the interior. He was tiny then, often sitting on his father’s shoulders and staring up at the windows with utter fascination.

He finds one of the small private rooms and slips inside to retire on a white-fabriced chair. There is very little furniture, truth be told, just a small set of chairs and a tiny table in the middle.

It takes him a moment to realize the room’s purpose is for mourners after a funeral.

The thought makes him chuckle, albeit briefly.

“Are you lost?”

Dimitri looks up, surprised as a tall woman in whites and golds drifts through. Her green hair is gently tied back, and she has none of the finery of some of the other Church clergy in Fhirdiad.

He does not recognize her. But the way she looks at him makes him feel quite exposed..

“Apologies.” Dimitri rubs his thumb above his eye. “Headache.”

She sits primly in a red-rose patterned chair across from him. “Do you wish to speak about it?”

“There is not much to say. Wedding planning is quite exhausting.” Already, Dimitri’s chest twists unpleasantly at the thought of being at the altar, of promising himself to - 

“I cannot say I have ever met someone who looked so grim about matrimony.” The woman clasps her hands together in her lap. “Do you not wish to be married under the eyes of Sothis?”

“Is it that obvious?” Goddess, he tries so hard with his facial expressions. “Please, do not misunderstand me,” Dimitri catches himself, “I have no problem with the religion nor matrimony, yet - ”

She waits.

“I am unfit to be a groom.”

“Then do not be.” She says, simple and calm and utterly certain. “The Goddess does not wish for her children to suffer unnecessarily.”

“And what does the Goddess say about… loving one you cannot marry?” Dimitri barely gets the words out before his throat tightens. 

Her bright green eyes are too searching. Dimitri feels as transparent as the windows around them. “I believe the Goddess teaches us to love, openly and without judgment. If it is pure and honest, then She will surely bless the couple.”

“Thank you.” It is a nice sentiment. But he cannot back out now, surely. 

Still.

"I will leave you to rest." The woman stands up and gently bows her head. "May Sothis guide you.'

Dimitri nods and is again, very alone.

_Dimitri._

_Stop being foolish._

_We don't want to attend just to watch you fall on your sword or whatever you're thinking about._

_And I will not wear a dress._

_Ingrid_

“You still look like you’re attending a funeral.” Sylvain picks a thin thread off from Dimitr’s shoulder. “Wasn’t this your father’s at one point? Very old fashioned.”

Dimitri adjusts his cravat. It is far too tight around his neck and the outfit he wears is equally constraining. All white with a blue jacket containing the Blaiddyd Crest on his waistcoat, and his hair has been tied back and fussed over too many times to count. Per tradition he has not spoken to Agnes in several days.

The small room of the cathedral is reserved solely for grooms before they are wed. It is a chance to speak to a priest and request any last-minute guidance. It is where they make sure their dress is as proper as the day demands. Outside, there are bright flowers and heavy lace and half of Faerghus’s social group hovering around, waiting for the mysterious Blaiddyd heir to finally say his vows and be done with it. There is an entire banquet in the hedge gardens outside the cathedral that he has no appetite for, and yet he is obligated to speak to every guest until the sun sets.

“You know,” Sylvain steps back, thoughtful. “I kept trying to figure out why exactly you went to Agnes. She’s not your type, if you’ll forgive the impropriety.” Sylvain reaches up to rub at the bec of his neck - a terribly practiced move that Dimitri has seen too often to believe is at all unconscious. “And she’s got some unknown beau in Leicester from what her staff speaks of.”

“I did not know you converse with Kleiman’s staff.” Sylvain is far too perceptive, sometimes. It is puzzling as to why he prefers to be a ne’er-do-well when he can so easily put his talents to better use. 

Sylvain’s eyes light up as he grins wickedly. “I talk to _everyone_ , Dimitri. That beau, by the way, is a baker. A mere baker who spends his mornings over an oven. Imagine the scandal that would happen to Kleiman should his daughter choose to live the life of a pastry-maker!”

Dimitri’s hands hesitate on one of his silver-colored buttons.

“Then I thought to myself -what can be so interesting about reading ledgers every day? Unless you enjoy accounts, it’s hardly how I would spend my time. And then,” Sylvain snaps his fingers, “I started to wonder why you would spend your time with someone from Duscur looking at accounts.”

“I believe you’re too deep into the gossip circuit.” Dimitri smiles politely but he can feel his jaw tightening all the same. 

“You might be right, Your Highness. After all, I cannot imagine anyone would simultaneously be trying to undo some long-ago injustice and also marry their daughter so the dishonor does not shadow their future. It is both too calculated and too, dare I say it, kind.”

His headache is back. “Sylvain, please,” He cannot do this right now. He does not want to hurt Agnes - she is not a bad person by any means. Dimitri cannot give her his heart; he can at least give her security.

Sylvain holds his hands up in mock-surrender. “Of course, it’s only an idle thought. Ingrid keeps finding me these adventure stories. There’s an author in Adrestia who I am partial to. Still - “ Sylvain’s expression grows gravely serious, “I know this is not what you want.”

“What I want is - “ Dimitri bows his head. “I cannot.” Sylvain would not judge him, surely. But Dimitri is already too tied in knots. Rodrigue’s letter, the thought that this entire time Felix has not known his true feelings…

He cannot lose his nerve. He cannot keep torturing himself. Felix is happy, somewhere. That is what matters.

“No, I suppose you can’t. The priest will be in shortly, as _tradition_ dictates. I suggest you speak to him openly. All the best, Your Highness.” Sylvain mock-bows and goes to the door. “I hope the next time I see you, you aren’t so dour.”

Dimitri revels in the silence. His heart has not slowed all day and the past two nights he has not slept, still haunted by honeysuckle and boyhood touches. He will likely not sleep when this is over.

The door clicks open and a priest steps in. Priests in the Church of Seiros are hard to identify during service due to the complicated habits they all wear. Still, this one looks oddly - 

Familiar.

“Do you want to confess anything?” 

“Have we met?” Dimitri is very tired, perhaps his mind is playing tricks on him. 

“Have we?”

Dimitri’s lips turn downwards. “Forgive me. I am - I suppose I am thinking of someone very dear to me..” He knows that frown. It was - 

“Then w- “ The priest curses, quite suddenly and entirely unbecoming of one in holy garb.

He has heard _that_ before. “Grace?”

“This is all _bullshit_.” The priest - Grace - tears her habit off and - 

And Dimitri’s heart stops.

He knows those eyes. The sharpness, the color, the shape. They are on a different face, sharper, heart-shaped, framed by deep frown lines. But it is - he could not ever forget.

“Felix?”

Felix Hugo Fraldarius glowers, or tries to. He makes an indigent squawk instead as Dimitri rushes over, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

“Get - Goddess, you're going to crush my arms.” Felix flails, whacking at Dimitri’s shoulder. “ _Sothis_ , you turned into a beast.”

“Felix.” Dimitri repeats, nuzzling into his neck. “You’re so - “ He pulls back, trying to fight the sudden wetness in his eyes. “You’re - “

“Being crushed.” 

“Beautiful.” Dimitri reaches up to cup his jaw, brush his thumb along Felix’s cheek. “Stunning.”

Felix’s cheeks go bright red. “And you are getting _married_ today.” He spits out, clearly indignant.

Oh. Right. “I do not think I can, now that you are here.” Dimitri cannot help himself. “Grace - is she - ?”

“I work for an opera. I have to be in a dress all the time.” Felix huffs. “Dorothea does not care how difficult it is to fence in three layers of taffeta.”

“You came for me.”

“To see if you still loved me.” Felix glances away. “My old man told me, about the letters, Dimitri, I - “

“You came for me.” Dimitri repeats, thrilled and stunned and so utterly smitten. “On my wedding day.”

“Yes. You said that. I - “ Felix makes an indigent squawk as again, he is pulled into a suffocating embrace. “Goddess, Dimi - “

He cannot speak as Dimitri kisses him. Felix’s body relaxes, his hands going to curl around Dimitri’s back, not even able to complain as Dimitri’s hands drag through his hair and cradle the back of his head.

“I love you.” Dimitri pulls away to breathe, resting his forehead against Felix’s. “I could not say it, I did not wish to bring you dishonor but - “ But Felix is here. He came to see Dimitri. He’d been trying to court Dimitri the entire time.

“I should have been more forthright.” Felix presses their lips together, briefly. “I doubted your loyalty even though I - I know you would never - “ Felix scoffs. “Only _you_ would cause me to dress as a priest in a holy church. I hope you know that.”

“If you are doomed to the Eternal Flames, I will walk with you the entire time.” Dimitri kisses him again and again and again. “If you still want me.”

“If you will still have me.” Felix looks at him, truly looks at him, and Dimitri knows he will never be able to go through with his vows. "Even after failing you, for lying - if you would have me..'

“Then - “

They are interrupted by a gentle cough.

Dimitri’s heart hammers, pulling Felix close to him. Felix’s head spins, his hands hovering protectively over Dimitri’s.

It is the woman from before. Now, she is surrounded by finery with an all-too iconic headdress of white lilies and gold trim.

The Archbishop herself. 

“Your Holiness, I - “ Dimitri cannot - not again, he will not - this time he will not run away and allow anyone else to dictate his future.

“Vows made beneath the Goddess are beyond my power. I cannot break them.” The Archbishop clasps her hands calmly in front of her waist. “Nor can I marry someone who has already sworn himself to another.”

Felix grips Dimitri’s hand tightly.

“It is quite the sin to dress as a priest, of course.” Her bright green eyes swing towards the window. “Therefore, perhaps it is best you two leave. I will explain that the wedding cannot happen today.”

Felix yanks Dimitri along and Dimitri practically floats behind him. “Let’s go. We can steal a motorcar.”

“ _Felix_!”

“Fine. We will escape on horseback.”

Kleiman paces. “What do you mean the groom has run away?”

“It seems the Goddess called him for another purpose.” Archbishop Rhea stares, utterly calm compared to the chaos around them. Sylvain and Ingrid are both comforting Kleiman’s daughter who does not seem entirely upset. Patricia is, as always, staring frostily at nothing. Dedue steps forward, right behind the Archbishop.

“Mister Kleiman, may I have a word?” Dedue asks, utterly calm.

Kleiman glowers. “What would I have to say to a butler? Especially one from _Duscur_.”

“Nothing.” Patiently, Dedue reaches into his waistcoat pocket. He pulls out a small leather wallet and folds it back to reveal a shining silver crest. “But you are legally obligated to speak to the Head Inspector about bribery.”

Kleiman goes ghost-white.

_My dearest Rodrigue,_

_Congratulations on becoming a grandfather! I am still looking forward to seeing both Glenn and his new wife - is it true she is as much a traveler as he is? Their child may as well call the sea his home I suppose!_

_It has been almost as though I am in a dream, but rest assured it is a good one. Even though I feel I’ve always known Felix, we are learning about each other all over again. He is truly passionate about the opera and frighteningly intense when directing the cast about the proper way to duel! I never knew so much went into a stage production but the results are impressive. The Mittlefrank Opera does indeed travel throughout Fodlan and Felix continues to guide me to the most interesting places. Last week, when heading through the old Gloucester roads, we visited the most impressive rose garden you can imagine. Next month, we head south and he has already promised we will visit the von Aegir thoroughbred farm. Steeplechase is still very popular in Adrestia and I hope to see Ingrid’s stallions participate in another few years._

_I must thank you for taking the lead on untangling all my finances and my former estate. I am not sure I can ever fully forgive Stepmother, but perhaps this entire time all she desired was to return to Adrestia again. Perhaps that is for the best, as we no longer have an obligation to one another._

_As things settle, I believe I will begin focusing on philanthropic work. The main Mittlefrank building is near an orphanage, and I often spend my days helping assist with many of the young children there. They are quite bright and energetic, and I do believe they deserve just as much a chance at success than anyone born into prosperity._

_I still hope to see you at your estate during the holidays. Felix will likely dig his heels in but I know he will be thrilled to see both you and Glenn._

_Yours,_

_Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd_

  
  


_Old Man -_

_Stop using Dimitri to make me write letters._

_I’m fine._

_We’re happy._

_Stop being nosy._

_Felix_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to everyone that leaves comments, kudos, etc. It lets me know what I did well, what I didn't explain well, etc.  
> And I swear this was supposed to be one and done minimalist but it got a little more complex as I was going.
> 
> Anyway. It was first "Dimitri finds out he is tsun-sexual via fox hunting" and then I thought about a regency AU without... acknowledging that I'm arguably the worst person to write a regency AU.
> 
> Also fun fact yes there absolutely was a swordfighting opera star who dressed as a nun to break into a convent to rescue her lover.  
> (nsfw)  
> https://www.badassoftheweek.com/maupin


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